Filthy Beast

by Liza Street

  Carter fought to calm the beast inside.

  Buenevista fought to make people hurt.

  Carter’s vision was fading. He wasn’t getting enough air. He fell backward on purpose, hoping to stun Buenevista into letting him go, but Buenevista didn’t budge from the impact.

  Well, hell. Maybe Carter really was a goner.

  Everything was gray now, fading to black. He was pissed. He didn’t want to go like this, a mundane fight with stupid Buenevista and Alleman. A dumb way to die. His bear clawed at him inside, full of rage, unwilling to relinquish life. Carter kicked. He flung his arms wildly. Maybe he could shift, maybe his bear would save him.

  But he didn’t have the energy to change forms. His arms flailed, out of his control as the fight for survival caused him to reach for anything that might save him.

  There was a loud grunt and a curse. Then Buenevista’s arm fell away. Carter coughed and blinked, trying to see what was going on. Another set of arms pulled him up, then gripped him from behind.

  Not wasting any time, Carter spun around and clipped someone on the chin. Jase, he realized as his vision cleared.

  “Hey, I was helping you, asshole,” Jase said, spitting blood on the ground. “Don’t knock my fuckin’ teeth out.”

  Rage pumped through Carter’s veins. He’d almost died. He wanted to make Jase bleed. He wanted to make everyone in the whole world bleed.

  Alleman was still knocked out, and Buenevista lay bleeding on the ground.

  Carter looked at Jase. “Wanna fight?”

  “Dude, you almost died.”

  Rolling his neck, Carter could still feel the ache from Buenevista’s hold. “I’m ready, are you?”

  “Your priorities are fucked.” Jase turned around and walked away, shaking his head.

  Carter watched him go. Maybe Ephraimson would be up for a fight. Or Markowicz, maybe? Or maybe Carter could pick a fight with Mathers. If Mathers was in pain, it would be easier to antagonize him.

  As if sensing Carter’s thoughts, Jase called out over his shoulder, “Go to bed, Varrone. Think about what matters.”

  Fighting mattered. Forgetting mattered.

  Carter jogged toward Mathers’s trailer.

  3

  The back of the transport van smelled like fur and sweat. There were four guys in there with Lena, two opposite her and two to her left. She wanted to squeeze herself into the corner, but showing fear around four male shifters—all of them violent, she supposed, if they were going to the Junkyard—was inviting trouble.

  Then again, Lena was going to the Junkyard, and she wasn’t violent.

  Maybe she needed to do a little thinking about who was sent to the Junkyard, and the assumptions she made about them?

  No, she was willing to bet, just from the looks on these guys’ faces, that most of the shifters in the Junkyard belonged there.

  She wondered if there would be any other women. She hadn’t heard of it, but the Junkyard wasn’t often talked about. It was pretty new, and some shifters disagreed on whether it should exist or not. Most, in the end, favored it because it provided an alternative to killing violent shifters who couldn’t exist peacefully in society or even amongst their own kind.

  She was trying hard not to make eye contact with any of the guys in the van with her, but she surreptitiously looked around. There were no windows back here and it was fairly dim, but her cougar shifter eyes could make out shapes and even colors. A pile of cloth bags sat near the doors. She’d overheard the driver and his partner mention them—each one contained a change of clothes, toothbrush, and toothpaste for Lena and the other guys.

  One of the men across from her had brown hair in a buzz cut and hazel eyes devoid of emotion. He inhaled deeply and flicked his gaze to Lena’s legs. “Smells like pussy in here.”

  “You should’ve taken a shower, then,” Lena said.

  “Bitch,” he growled. “I’ll show you—”

  “Easy, Barnum,” another guy said. “We don’t want a fight in here.”

  Lena flicked a glance to the other guy. Blond hair, light blue eyes. He nodded in reassurance. Scowling, she looked away. She didn’t need or want anyone’s help.

  Besides, the blondie had his hands bound behind him instead of at his front. That probably meant he was more dangerous.

  Lena’s hands were free. Shaw had loaded her up personally and placed zip ties on her wrists. But the two guys driving the van had pulled over a couple of miles away from Lena’s territory and called her forward. Terrified, she’d thought maybe Shaw paid them to kill her. But instead, one had held her arm in place to keep her from running, while the other cut off the zip ties. “You shouldn’t be in there defenseless,” one of them had muttered, then shoved her back into the van.

  That was when she’d taken stock of the other guys’ bindings. The guy in front of her with the buzz cut, Barnum, had his arms bound behind his back. He smelled like a big cat, but not a cougar. A muddy, wet scent clung to him. A chain locked his legs to the floor boards of the van. It wasn’t just the high security on him that had her hair standing on end, it was the menacing look in his gaze. Not a friend.

  The other three guys were more loosely bound. While Blondie, next to Barnum in front of her, had his hands behind him, the other two had their hands bound in front. She doubted the measure would do much good if they were really intent on getting free, but they sat still, like they were bored.

  A twelve-hour trip to the Junkyard was definitely boring.

  Eastern Washington had seemed boring, before, and she’d always wanted to go to California.

  Maybe not quite like this, though.

  Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest as she imagined what Sarah would think of all this.

  She was overtaken with the desire to touch Sarah’s letter. None of the guys seemed to be paying her any more attention, so she reached for her back pocket to take a look.

  The paper wasn't there. Her pocket was empty.

  Maybe she put it in her other pocket. She checked there, even though she knew she wouldn't find it.

  Sarah’s letter had fallen out, probably in the cage in Shaw's basement.

  Shaw would find it, undoubtedly. And when he did, he would know that Lena knew the truth. She tried not to think about what that could mean for her.

  The guy farthest to her left leaned forward. He had reddish-brown hair and a painful-looking black eye. “Barnum’s right. She smells like fucking. What’d you do to get tossed in the Junkyard, sweetheart?”

  Lena sighed. “Your dad.”

  The dark-haired wolf shifter immediately next to her snickered, as did Blondie in front of her.

  “You’re right, Barnum,” Black-eye said. “Bitch should be taught a lesson.”

  Lena didn’t wait for him to go on the offensive. She knew what guys like this were capable of—guys with violent smiles that reminded her of Shaw. She was on Black-eye’s lap in seconds, her legs squeezing his arms in place, her thumbs at the corners of his eyes and ready to gouge. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson.”

  But he was too big—he bucked her off his lap and she fell to the van floor. Chains clinked as Barnum lifted one of his feet to stomp on her shoulder, the only part of her he could reach.

  She was wrenched away just in time. Somebody grasped her and she reached out to scratch him.

  “Easy,” the guy said.

  Looking up, she saw Blondie’s hands on her forearm.

  “I got you,” he said.

  The dark-haired guy was rubbing his knuckles. Black-eye had another quickly-forming black eye.

  Dark-hair and Blondie had saved her ass.

  “Thanks, guys,” she muttered. It looked like she’d needed help after all. Nothing like getting the piss scared out of her to hammer a lesson home.

  “The name’s Marcus Bylund,” Dark-hair said.

  “Kyle Rusch,” Blondie said.

  “Your biggest nightmare,” Barnum said.

  Black-eye sent a murderous look at he
r through his first black eye. The second black eye was swollen too much for him to see through.

  Lena took a deep breath and addressed Marcus and Kyle. “I’m Lena Berry.”

  They didn’t talk for the rest of the drive to the Junkyard, but Lena knew she’d found a couple of allies, and she was grateful.

  She jerked alert when the van pulled off a paved road and onto dirt. There were no windows in the back of the van, but she could hear the difference. The dark-haired guy glanced at her, and she saw that his shirt sleeve was creased. She’d been dozing against him. Embarrassing, but she pretended it didn’t bother her.

  The rear door of the van clanked open and evening light streamed in. Lena blinked. She felt the tension practically thrumming through the men around her. The driver and his partner grabbed the canvas bags on the floor and tossed them outside the van.

  “Marcus Bylund,” one of the men said, reading from a piece of paper. “It says here you’re in for endangering your pack, and murder. Come on out here.”

  Murder. Marcus avoided Lena’s gaze as he hopped out of the van.

  Perhaps Lena had been too quick to call him an ally.

  Then again, he’d swiftly come to her defense in the van, without question. For all he knew, Lena habitually went around trying to gouge out peoples’ eyeballs as she’d tried with Black-eye. Yet he’d still helped her.

  There was more to his story, she was sure of it, just as there was more to hers.

  She watched while the two transporters led Marcus to a gravel line on the ground. On the other side of it, junk cars and other detritus lay in heaps across what would otherwise be a fairly picturesque piece of land. Jagged metal edges looked like they could do some damage to a person, but Lena was more concerned with the whole gang of shifters who waited in the shadows.

  The transporters shoved Marcus across the gravel line, not bothering to remove his zip ties. Marcus looked around at the Junkyard for a moment, as if taking stock. Lena worried that some of the other shifters inside the boundary would come after him, but for the moment they were keeping their distance.

  “Lena Berry, you’re next.”

  Lena stood on stiff legs. It had been a long drive. As she took the two steps to the van's rear door, Barnum stuck out his foot and tripped her. She stumbled forward, nearly colliding with one of the transporters.

  “Whoa,” he said, and the other guy went for a Taser in his pocket.

  “She only fell, you dimwits,” Kyle said from inside the van. “She’s not attacking you.”

  The Taser guy’s cheeks went pink. “Sorry,” he said to Lena. Then he looked at the paper he held in his other hand. “Says here that your alpha from the Arrow Valley Pride sent you. Repeated insubordination and endangering your pride. Violence.”

  She was hardly violent, other than the thing with Black-eye earlier, but she wasn't going to tell them that. Better to go into the Junkyard sounding tougher than she actually was.

  Sarah would get a kick out of this. Not the whole forever in the Junkyard thing, but this entire set-up. It was almost too crazy to really be happening.

  Lena didn’t wait for them to escort her to the gravel line. Throwing her shoulders back, she walked right up to it and stepped over.

  She felt nothing. No tingle of magic, no burn of a transformation. Was the boundary even there? How freaking hilarious would it be if everyone believed it was there, but it was imaginary all along. Like the emperor’s new clothes, prison style. Unable to resist, she put out a hand to check. Her fingers met something cool and solid. An invisible wall. So the magic was real.

  Well, at least it meant she would be protected from Shaw in here.

  Marcus was standing next to the jagged, broken door of an old Chevy. He sawed his hands back and forth, trying to tear the zip tie. Not knowing what else to do, Lena walked over to him.

  “You know anybody in here?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not that I'm aware.”

  Lena thought for a moment about the murder Marcus was in here for.

  “Are you going to murder me?” she asked him.

  “Nope.”

  She could sense the truth of his words.

  He went on, “Are you going to hurt me or endanger me?”

  “No,” she said.

  Kyle came over the barrier. He didn't waste any time testing out the wall. Instead, he looked through the canvas sacks on the ground, picked up three, and walked directly over to Lena and Marcus.

  Kyle handed Marcus and Lena each a bag.

  Lena looked inside of hers to see a pair of jeans that looked like they might fit her. “Thanks.”

  “I reckon the three of us should be allies,” Kyle said.

  It was exactly what Lena had been thinking. But she hadn’t heard what the transporters said about Kyle. “I missed the reason you’re in here,” she said to him.

  “My charming personality,” Kyle said.

  Lena stared at him.

  “I pissed off my alpha. Wouldn’t fight for the clan.”

  She pursed her lips. She could tell he wasn’t lying, but that didn't mean he was telling her all of the truth, either. Still, what else was she going to do? Turn into her lion and sleep in a tree every single night until she died? Not a bad idea, but she wouldn’t mind having a couple of friends.

  “I’m in,” Marcus said. “How about you, Lena?”

  Barnum had just stepped over the gravel line. He stretched, and his neck cracked. “I'm ready for a fight!”

  Black-eye came over the boundary next. Lena wished she had heard why he and Barnum had been sent to the junkyard.

  But maybe it was better not knowing.

  The transporters climbed into their van and drove away. No farewells, no wishes for luck.

  Lena looked at her two new BFFs. “So, what next?”

  Some of the Junkyard shifters were coming out of the shadows. Lena sized them up. Their clothes weren’t as dirty as she had been expecting. Were they hiding a washing machine in here somewhere?

  The biggest guy, a bruiser with brown hair and matching eyes, stepped forward and addressed Barnum. “The name is Mathers. You wanted a fight?”

  Barnum nodded grimly. “Always.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Mathers asked.

  Black-eye stepped forward. “Not his friend, not anyone’s friend. The name’s Beau Mollin.”

  Mathers turned away from him and looked directly at Lena. “Usually we fight for dominance, but tonight we can fight for pussy.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Barnum said.

  Nope. Lena was out of here.

  Before she could grab her two new friends and run, another shifter stepped out of the shadows. Beautiful body—broad shoulders and a way of moving that spoke of power. Dark whiskers covered his chin, matching his straight, dark brown hair. His deep blue eyes held a note of playfulness as he looked at Lena and said, “Nah, we can’t fight for her. She’s a Junkyard shifter, just like us. Let her battle for dominance, too.”

  “I can speak for myself,” Lena said, “and I don't want any part of your bullshit dominance, and you’re welcome to fight over me, but I’m not gonna stick around to be a prize.”

  As if she hadn’t spoken, Mathers addressed the blue-eyed man. “We’ll fight for what I say we fight for, Carter, and if you disagree, you can fight me over that.”

  The guy, Carter, yanked his shirt over his head. Lena tried not to stare at his muscular torso.

  “Fine,” Carter said. “Man or beast?”

  “Beast.”

  While the misogynistic assholes undressed, Lena turned to Marcus and Kyle and hoisted her canvas bag of clothes over her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Marcus nodded. Kyle said, “Yeah.”

  They started off, winding their way through the junk.

  “Hang on,” Carter called after them. “You guys are supposed to stay for the fights.”

  Kyle looked at Lena. “I don't care about their rules, do you?”

&nb
sp; Lena shook her head and kept on walking. They walked until the trees grew thicker together, and it became fully dark.

  “Is that a cabin?” Marcus asked, pointing.

  Lena squinted through the darkness. She wasn’t sure she would call the little structure a cabin, but it was a kind of shelter. The whole area smelled like bear—grassy, with a hint of rosewood. Something dangled from one of the tree branches near the cabin, and it looked like a body. Had the Junkyard shifters hanged someone? But when she peered closer, she realized it was a punching bag. She would’ve thought that fighting each other would be enough for these guys, but apparently not.

  “Someone lives here already,” Lena said. “Let’s keep walking.”

  She didn’t know how far they had gone. From what she had heard, the Junkyard wasn’t more than a hundred acres. She kept expecting to bump into the invisible wall, but it never happened.

  Eventually they came to a trailer. Lena’s heart lifted at the familiar scent of mountain lion. The scent was faint, as if the lion hadn’t been around in months. She walked around to the other side of the trailer, looking for a door. Someone had painted the outside—and not just a single, solid color, but a mural of colors and animals. She raised her eyebrows, impressed at the sight. A bear, a mountain lion, a wolf. All were rendered with swirling colors.

  From behind her, Marcus said, “Wow.”

  “The scent is old,” Lena said. “This might work.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think the cougar lives here anymore,” Kyle said.

  Lena wondered what happened to the previous resident. He must have died; it was the only way to get out of this place. It was a shame that someone with so much talent had passed away. She wondered who he was.

  She knocked, but as expected, nobody came to the door. When she tried the latch, the door opened. She peeked inside. A neatly made bed area took up one end of the trailer. Straight across from her was a counter with a tiny sink. At the other end was a second area with a table and cushioned benches. She was willing to bet the table could be pushed down and the cushioned area expanded for a second bed.